


A Year and a Day

by savetheclaypots



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, F/M, Timeskip angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:05:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8242258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savetheclaypots/pseuds/savetheclaypots
Summary: A thought Rukia had pretended wasn’t there the day before was clear in her mind without paperwork and training to distract her. A year ago last night. A year and a day, now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for deathberryprompts' weekly drabble theme “exhaustion” on tumblr. I also wanted to try a thing in terms of narrative form, so there's that. 
> 
> Post-Farewell Swords/Bleach My Soul angst from Rukia's pov. Wholesome fun for the whole family. Enjoy!

 

Rukia woke up with the break of dawn. She was in her room, in the 13th Division’s barracks, where she had been ushered into the previous evening by a worried Kiyone. _You work too hard_ , she had said, _When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep or any kind of proper rest? We can’t have both you and Captain Ukitake unwell._ Rukia tried not to dwell on the pang of guilt for being a burden to her division, when their Captain needed her to do her best. _Too much of a good thing_ , she thought, ruefully. She sighed and sat up, hugging her knees. The sun was rising and, through the window she had left open the night before, Rukia watched it chase away the night. She felt rested, she had to admit, but the heavy feeling in her limbs and heart lingered yet.

A thought Rukia had pretended wasn’t there the day before was clear in her mind without paperwork and training to distract her. _A year ago last night. A year and a day, now. A year and your whole hopeless life as you knew it._ There was nothing soft about first light. It was no gentle awakening. It illuminated all the dark places you thought were safe – from the world, from yourself. She thought she should’ve known better than trying to hide from sunshine. Daylight only showed Rukia what she already knew, but tried to ignore, was there, which was nothing, which was absence marked by all the ways it made itself known: a battered paperback with marginal notes she’d never returned, a song she couldn’t forget, a letter in messy code she couldn’t make herself throw away.

_A year and a day_ , she thought. Rukia was so tired of trying not to miss him. And not for the first time these past months (and months) a cruel solution made itself known. _Just get a gigai, problem solved_. And also not for the first time she let herself thrill at the possibility:

                        She’d knock on his front door and he’d be shocked

                        into silence at the sight of her, real and not half-forgotten

                        in a dream. She would look smug, but the shine in

                        her eyes would speak only of second chances. But

                        they didn’t touch: his hands still in his pockets her

                        her hands, now, clasped behind her back. And there was

                        no reason to be this wrong so soon.

 

                        She’d want – more than anything—

                        to make it right, and he’d walk her up to his room,

                        because there’d be nowhere else to go.

                        And they’d talk and he’d pretend he didn’t feel

                        the world settle and she’d want to stop pretending altogether.

                        She’d tease: _It sounds like you missed me_. He’d scoff:

                        _Miss you? I finally had some peace around here. Besides_

_It sounds like you missed_ me. She’d understand everything,

                        especially what he didn’t say and, finally,

                        a crossroad: she could tease, or she could move on.

                        _I did actually, yeah. A lot._ She’d try to look at him

                        she’d try and fail and look at his feet instead.

                        He’d be stunned, of course, but would move,

                        in spite of himself, and she’d see every centimeter

                        as he moved in her direction _Hey, look at me_.

                        It’d start like that and he’d say her name, soft

_Rukia._ And she’d look up—

 

                        Still. It would end like it always does: a goodbye. _When_

_will I see you again_ , he’d ask, full of hope.

                        The answer would always have to be _Soon,_

_I don’t know_. But the truth neither could bear

                        was that she meant never. He would never see her,

                        he’d see a gigai. And He would die someday.

She reached the same conclusion every time: a gigai was no solution, it was borrowed time. Rukia would always have to leave; Ichigo would never be able to follow. Until he did. Until he finally returned to Soul Society, except he would arrive like any other soul – a slate wiped clean. _At least we had a clean break_ , which was Rukia’s favorite lie to tell. There was nothing clean, she knew, about the words that died in her throat. Words that changed every day she allowed herself to ask what was she about to say? What could she have said while she watched Ichigo watch her disappear? What was clean about the gap between them that they refused to bridge? Her hands crossed, tightly, across her chest, his hands in his pockets. The unspoken _too late_ falling over them like summer rain, unrelenting.

When Ichigo dies, if they saw each other at all, there would be no warmth in his eyes meant only for her. Putting on a gigai, seeing him now, would be stalling the inevitable. Yet, part of her wanted to be that selfish. Part of her wanted to grasp whatever time they had before – Before. Most of her, though, couldn’t rob Ichigo of his life. Rukia couldn’t bring herself to keep him always waiting for her to return. And she wasn’t sure she could bear saying goodbye over and over again followed by returns that would never last long enough. Rukia wondered, in spite of herself, if, in the many years she had yet to live, she’d forget him, too. The sound of his voice, husky with sleep; how he’d always scratch the back of his head in embarrassment; his handwriting; the day the met, and the day they parted forever. Rukia sighed in utter weariness at the prospect, and got up to face the first day of many.

 


End file.
